


If You Thought The Head Trauma Was Bad...

by Kerkerian



Series: Whumptober 2020 [4]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Caring Mac, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Whump, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Whump, M/M, Serious Injuries, Team as Family, Temporary Blindness, Whumptober 2020, macdalton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26899825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerkerian/pseuds/Kerkerian
Summary: Whumptober Prompt Day 26: If You Thought The Head Trauma Was Bad... (Migraine/Concussion/Blindness)
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Jack Dalton/Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: Whumptober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952242
Comments: 12
Kudos: 81
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	If You Thought The Head Trauma Was Bad...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [4badmice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/4badmice/gifts).



> Sadly, I don't own MacGyver.
> 
> This is for my friend 4badmice- thank you for your constant support!

Mac is curled up in a hospital recliner; after being awake for more than 48 adrenaline fuelled hours, he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer even though he tried, fighting sleep with all he had. But now he's severely out of it, and the nurse who covers him with a blanket tuts: it's not going to be comfortable when he wakes up. She briefly considered rousing him enough for him to lie down properly, but she's not convinced he'll want to, and she's glad, frankly, that he finally lost the battle and dozed off, because he looked dead on his feet but refused to leave his partner's side or even let him out of his sight.

Which is why he was still wearing his bloodied and dirty clothes when Mr. Dalton was being transferred to post-surgical; it was the same nurse, Lindsey, who had to tell the young man that he couldn't go in there looking as he did. At that, he looked down at himself as if only then realizing how he had arrived at the hospital, and he seemed just wretched, pale and tense with anxiety as he was, his eyes red-rimmed, his hands shaking.

So Lindsey, who had two sons around the same age, took pity on him, found some scrubs for him to wear and offered to take his clothes home to wash them. “I'm on duty every night this week,” she said. “You'll get them back tomorrow, honey.”

Mac wanted to decline, but since he didn't know for how long he was going to be there and this seemed the most reasonable option if he wanted to see Jack right then, he accepted the offer, grateful for the nurse's sympathy and kindness. “Are you alright?” she asked once he had changed and handed her the bag with his clothes. “Did you get checked out at all?”

“Yeah, I'm...” Mac's voice barely obeyed him, and he frowned as he tried to recall the ride in the ambulance. “One of the EMTs did it, I think,” he said. There might have been a blood pressure cuff around his arm at one point, and someone who asked him questions and shone a light in his eyes. Which barely registered with him, since his focus was on Jack, who looked too pale, too inanimate, who had lost so much blood that Mac was convinced he was going to lose him.

Jack had sustained a gunshot wound and a graze on his upper arm because of an unexpected sniper: an unforgivable mistake. Jack managed to take him down, but he had been hit in his side, just above the hip. As if all of that wasn't bad enough, there was the blunt force trauma to the back of his head. Matty was livid on the phone, ready to tear someone's head off because of the bad intel; their informants were thus in for a dressing-down they'd not forget so soon.

Mac didn't care, though. All he knew was that they had succeeded in destroying the building, as ordered, and that Jack was paying dearly for it. He had just shot the sniper when another one of the goons regained consciousness, and Mac blames himself for not making sure he was really out of it, and hit Jack over the back of his head with a pipe.

Mac will never forget the horrible little gasp full of pain Jack made before he hit the ground, and his own roar as he threw himself onto Jack's attacker, sounding very unlike himself.

And now, two days later, Jack is still unconscious, but he's alive and breathing on his own. Mac has gotten his clothes back, sans blood and grime, his shirt ironed. When Lindsey handed them over, he spontaneously hugged her, and then just clung to her for a moment until he wasn't trembling so badly anymore.

“He's holding his own,” she said softly, patting his shoulder once they'd let go of each other. “I've seen other cases, patients fighting but losing. Your friend seems strong, though.”

Mac just nodded; he was too tired to think straight and come up with an answer.

He wakes up from a hand on his shoulder; this time, it's not Lindsey but Bozer. Mac blinks, sitting up as he becomes aware, wincing from the rather fierce crick in his neck but tremendously relieved to see his best friend. He has no idea how bleary-eyed and exhausted he looks, but Bozer pulls him straight into his arms and hugs him tightly, which is a reliable indicator that it must be bad enough.

“Thanks for coming,” Mac says, his voice brittle, his gaze already straying over to the bed to check on his partner.

Riley is there, with her back to them, her attention on Jack. When she finally turns around to Mac and Bozer, her eyes are swimming. Wordlessly, she hugs Mac as well, and they hold each other for a considerable while, sharing their sorrow.

When Jack finally opens his eyes on the following morning, he isn't lucid, just blinks a few times and drops off again. This keeps happening during the entire day, and the doctor assures Mac that it's nothing out of the ordinary because of the considerable blow to the back of his head Jack sustained. It takes 34 more hours until he finally wakes up properly. Every time he blinked, Mac was on his feet in an instant; this time is no exception.

“Jack,” he says emphatically, leaning over the bed, and when the speed of the heart monitor increases, he pushes the call button. Riley and Bozer come closer while Mac talks to Jack, who is staring at the ceiling once his eyes are fully open.

“Jack, are you with me?” Mac asks, squeezing Jack's hand as he tries to get his friend to look at him. But Jack seems agitated, and when he tries to speak, he doesn't get a word out at first. A moment later, Lindsey arrives whose shift has just started, and she gently but firmly ushers Jack's visitors aside to check on Jack. Mac is trembling and he's grateful when he feels Riley's hand steal into his. Something's off, he knows it even before Lindsey calls for the doctor and they all have to leave the room.

More waiting, during which Mac tries to keep himself from thinking the worst, that Jack might have sustained any lasting damage he won't recover from. This time, it's he who reaches for Riley's hand, and they don't let go of one another so soon.

When the doctor finally joins them, the news are not what Mac expected, but they're still bad: Jack appears to be suffering from cortical blindness, probably caused by the trauma to the occipital lobe of the brain. When they ask for a prognosis, the doctor tells them that Jack has a chance of regaining his vision completely since it's been caused by the blood loss in the tissue rather than lasting injury to the affected region of the visual cortex. A lasting visual impairment can't be ruled out as a possible outcome either, however.

The doctor can't say how long it'd take even in the best case scenario, and even though everyone is trying to be positive, Mac feels as though someone has taken his insides and twisted them around. He can barely breathe, and he can't even begin to imagine how Jack must feel.

So he leaves the group and returns to the room, where Lindsey is still busy. Though at second glance, it looks as though she's rather stalling for time, probably not wanting to leave Jack alone after he's just received the news. Mac can tell, from Jack's wide eyes and the way he's breathing, that he is close to panicking.

“Jack,” he hears himself saying, too loud, too uncontrolled, causing Jack to flinch and immediately making Mac feel guilty for it, but then he's at the bed and grabs Jack's hand and wraps it in his own: “Jack, it's Mac.”

Jack's tension lessons visibly at that, and his accelerated breathing slows down somewhat. Lindsey gives Mac a sympathetic little smile: “I'll leave you two to it,” she says. “Don't hesitate to call if you need anything.”

Mac nods, his attention on Jack, who rolls his head towards his partner, but his eyes don't focus, of course, and that's a rather unsettling sight.

“Hey, man... Don't ask me... how many fingers you're holdin' up,” Jack croaks, his voice terribly feeble, and his bravado makes Mac tear up. He blinks furiously: he can't break down now, he has to be strong, for Jack.

“'kay,” he manages. “I'll hold off on that, if you insist.”

He can't hide how nasal he sounds, however, and now Jack blinks too, his unseeing eyes swimming: “You cryin'?” he asks. “Cause I'm not, you know.”

Mac laughs, despite himself, though it takes all he has to prevent it from turning into a sob.

“No, course not,” he replies, and after that, they don't speak for a while, just hold on to each other with a vice-like grip while their tears are running down their faces unchecked.

“You okay?” Jack wants to know later, once they've calmed down somewhat.

“Nothing but a few scratches,” Mac says, which is true. It was Jack who took the brunt this time, and Mac miraculously escaped nearly unscathed.

“'kay,” Jack breathes. “Did my job, then.”

“Yeah,” Mac's throat is tight again. “You did.”

After a while, Riley and Bozer come in, hesitantly, but Jack's battered face lights up when he hears them, and soon, he's surrounded by his logical family.

“Matty sends her love,” Bozer tells him. “She couldn't get away, otherwise she'd have come with us.”

“Yeah, she's been calling us every hour,” Riley says, trying to lighten the mood.

“Always knew she loved me,” Jack mumbles; he's beginning to flag.

They keep the chatter up until Jack dozes off again, which doesn't take long; he's still tired, and he's just been dealt another veritable blow, on top of his injuries.

Mac, Riley and Bozer stay where they are for a while longer, needing to be close to Jack and one another. It's all they can do for now.

The next few days are difficult, to say the least. As Jack stays awake for longer periods, slowly recovering from the blood loss while his gunshot wounds begin to heal, he fluctuates between trying to be brave and being overcome by despair or just getting furious because of it all. It happens whenever the perpetual darkness overwhelms him, feels too claustrophobic, for example.

His friends try to distract him, but sometimes, that makes it even worse. He doesn't want to only be able to listen things, he wants to watch them. He wants to turn the page of his favourite books himself, wants to read facial expressions and gestures. He wants to shave himself. To look out of the window and see the leaves falling, since they're in Alberta, Canada, and they actually have reliable seasons. And most importantly, he wants to do his job as soon as he's out of the hospital.

“I'm your overwatch. _Watch_ , as in 'look at'. How can I do my job if I can't see?” he asks Mac angrily one evening; a rhetorical question, since they both know the answer and neither of them likes it. Bozer and Riley have gone to get something to eat, and it's very quiet in the room.

“For now, we're on hiatus,” Mac says, helplessly. “And Dr. Reeves said to give it time, right?”

“Yeah. Great.” Jack sounds belligerent. Secretly, he's glad that Matty, after conferring with Oversight, decided to grant the entire team some downtime; otherwise, Mac, Bozer and Riley couldn't even have stayed with him for so long. And it means that he doesn't have to feel left out. Yet. If his stupid eyes will one day work again, it'll be okay. If not... it doesn't bear thinking about it, so he tries not to ponder it too much. It might be selfish, but he can't imagine what the poor little bomb nerd with the funny hamburger name would be doing without him to have his back.

Things improve marginally once Jack is fit for transport and can be transferred to Phoenix medical. It feels like a step forward, somehow, though he's got to admit that he's been in good hands in the Canadian hospital. Lindsey hugs them when they say goodbye: “Fingers crossed,” she says in an undertone to Mac, who gives her a small, sad smile.

They are glad to be leaving nevertheless; it's been two weeks, and they all want to go home, Jack most of all. “I might not be able to see it,” he quips, “but I'll sure _smell_ it.”

Under any other circumstances, Mac would have rolled his eyes at that, but now he's just glad whenever Jack is in such a good temper.

Matty is already waiting for them in the infirmary: “Hey, Jack,” she says softly, “it's so good to have you home.”

Jack, who is wearing dark sunglasses, smiles, but even though it's the genuine article, he looks frail somehow. Matty steps closer to the wheelchair: “Heads up,” she says. “I'm going to hug you now.” Which she does, and Jack gratefully leans into it as far as he can. It's a very emotional moment, and Mac suddenly feels boneless with relief to be back. He drives home but, after a shower and putting on some fresh clothes, then a detour to Jack's apartment to get him a few things and to Jack's favourite hamburger place to bring him some dinner, returns to the Phoenix.

Jack is glad about the company and utterly happy about the burger which he holds under his nose, inhaling deeply: “See? Told you I could smell it. This definitely is one of them.” He smiles in Mac's direction: “Thank you, Carl's Junior.”

His poor little bomb nerd however is still weighed down by guilt. Seeing his partner here and in relatively good spirits despite everything only makes it worse, because it seems more real somehow.

He waits until Jack's finished eating and is leaning back with a satisfied expression: “Jack... there's something I've got to tell you.”

“Shoot.”

Mac takes a deep breath: “It's my fault that you got hit over the head. The guy who did it... I thought I had knocked him out, but somehow, he came around again and he had a pipe... I wasn't fast enough to stop him.” He breaks off, his voice too strangled to go on.

Jack is silent for a moment, then he reaches for Mac, finding his arm and seizing the fabric of his shirt: “Stop that _right_ now,” he says somewhat strainedly. “You did nothing wrong, hoss. Things like these happen, you know that as well as I do.”

Mac doesn't know what to say. He isn't sure if he could be so forgiving, if their roles were reversed. Then again, Jack is right, things like these happen. The crux is that they _shouldn't_ happen. That it wouldn't have happened to Jack, because they're professionals and being thorough is part of their job.

“But I failed you,” he therefore replies, his voice wobbly.

At that, Jack's expression softens.

“Come closer?” he says, and when Mac gets to his feet and leans over the railing, he pulls him in for a hug. Or an approximation of one, considering that Jack can't move as freely as he'd like and Mac doesn't want to hurt him any further. But it's enough for now, because Jack can stroke Mac's neck with his thumb and tell him that he loves him no matter what and that nobody is perfect (“Well, Bruce is, but sadly he doesn't work for clandestine government agencies.”) and that he should stop feeling guilty because what they decidedly don't need is _more_ misery.

Mac's eyes are brimming: “I'm so sorry,” he mutters, he can't help it. At that, Jack falls silent and just keeps stroking Mac until he's beginning to tremble from the exertion. So Mac gently eases him down again, but he doesn't let go of Jack afterwards, just keeps one hand on Jack's shoulder.

“Doc said I'm a good healer,” Jack says quietly. “I'm fully banking on that, okay?”

“Okay.” Mac wipes his eyes with his free hand.

“Can we make a deal?” Jack asks him after a few seconds.

“What kind of deal?”

“From here on out, we'll operate under the assumption that I'm gonna get my sight back, okay?”

Mac takes a deep breath: “Okay.”

“Good. But if that doesn't work- “ Jack's voice falters ever so fleetingly. “If it doesn't work... you gotta promise me that you won't run around feeling guilty all the time. You didn't shoot me, the sniper did. If I hadn't been wounded, the other guy'd never have gotten me. 'kay?”

Mac isn't entirely convinced of that, but he's aware that Jack needs to hear something else right now, so he nods: “Promise.”

“Good,” Jack repeats. “Secondly: No pity, okay? I don't wanna be treated like a kicked puppy. If I had wanted a safe job I'd have become a bathroom tile salesman or something.” He flashes Mac a tiny grin. “Everything I did so far has got its risks. I've been lucky until now, so I can't complain. I might do it nevertheless, but I still don't want anyone's pity, alright?”

“Yes.” Mac once more marvels at Jack's strength. “Sorry,” he then says, barely audible. “The last thing you should have to do right now is comforting me.”

A small smile illuminates Jack's face: “I'm your overwatch, remember? Always got your back, pal.”

Mac closes his eyes for a moment: “Yeah,” he says, gently squeezing Jack's shoulder. “Always.”

Jack has to spend a few more days at the hospital, but Dr. Sinderby, Matty and he (and Mac, because he still spends most of his time with his partner) begin to discuss the next steps.

“Obviously, I'd not recommend living alone for the time being,” the doctor says.

“You can stay with me,” Mac says at once. “It's actually perfect. No stairs...” He pauses, considering. “Unless you want to be in your own apartment. I could stay with you then.”

A soft smile plays around Jack's mouth, but before he can answer, Matty interjects: “It's going to be Mac's house,” she says firmly. “Jack, you've got too many neighbours, it'd be more difficult to secure.”

Frowning, Jack turns his head in her direction: “What're you talking about?”

“I'm talking about the fact that we still have plenty of people out there who present a veritable threat,” Matty replies. “If they caught wind of the situation and decided to take advantage of it, you'd be in some serious trouble. As long as you're out of commission, it's too risky to let you stay at Mac's or any place without adequate protection, as we know from previous experience.” She directs a pointed look at Mac before she continues: “So, Mac- we're going to put in an alarm system and use a few security details throughout the duration. We'll also keep tabs on the neighbours.”

Mac purses his lips the way he always does when he doesn't necessarily like something but nevertheless appreciates the necessity for it: “'kay.”

Dr. Sinderby clears this throat: “We discussed using one of the Phoenix safe houses,” he says, “given the circumstances though, I'd not recommend using a place with an unfamiliar layout. Mr. Dalton is very likely going to be more comfortable in surroundings he's accustomed to.”

Which makes sense.

For a moment, nobody speaks.

“It's settled, then,” Mac eventually says. “Jack, what do you think?”

Jack shrugs: “Fine with me.”

“You're really okay with it?” Mac later asks Jack, when they're alone.

Jack sighs: “Well, I already know what it smells like... ” He can't see Mac's face, of course, but he grins nevertheless: “Lighten up, hoss, I'm just joking.”

“Jack-”

“Yeah, sorry. I'll be appropriately solemn now.”

“What's with you tonight?”

“Nothin'.” Jack shrugs. “Just... I dunno. Feelin' silly.”

Mac scratches his head: “O-kay...” he says slowly. “So? The house?”

Jack shrugs again: “Matty's got a point, don't you think?”

“Yes. It'll be easier if you live in a place with a familiar layout.”

“I'll be fine,” Jack says. “And we're getting to spend time together. So... sounds okay to me.”

Mac is touched by his words. “You think you'll be fine with only me as your caretaker?”

“That makes me sound so geriatric,” Jack pulls a face. “I'm blind, not invalid.”

“Yeah.” Mac sounds sheepish. “Sorry.”

“It's okay. As long as you don't make me learn Braille.”

“I won't, I promise.” Mac says. “Because you won't need it once you're better.”

“Right.” Jack holds out his hand for a fist bump, and Mac meets it. He doesn't tell Jack that he's already planning on reading up on the subject: how to make things easiest for Jack, so he'll be able to orient himself in the new surroundings and be as self-sufficient as possible.

“I'll still be the one looking after you,” Mac then says. He is no stranger to wound care, of course, courtesy of their job, so he doesn't have any qualms about it. Apart from that, Dr. Sinderby will make house calls every now and then to check up on Jack, and a Phoenix physiotherapist is going to come by regularly too, if all under cover of night.

Jack now frowns: “Wait- does that mean that you're gonna cook?”

Mac sounds sheepish: “Yeah, why?”

“Oh boy.”

“Come on, I'm not that bad-”

“With Bozer supervising, maybe. And he won't be there.”

“I'll manage, Jack.”

“I hope so. I really don't want to starve to death.”

“Sheesh...”

Five days later, Mac takes Jack home. Strictly speaking, four security guards are taking them home, in the dark of the night.

“It's all very clandestine indeed,” Jack drawls, making Mac laugh. They are both relieved to be leaving medical.

The Phoenix and Riley have meanwhile turned Mac's house into a fortress, the fridge is well-stocked and Mac has taken the time to make the bed in Bozer's former room. Before Jack can lie down however, Mac makes him walk to the adjoining bathroom and count his steps. He makes him memorize when to turn and where he put Jack's stuff in the bathroom: he's arranged it all on one big tray which he put next to the sink so everything will be easier to find.

“Toothbrush at twelve o'clock, tooth paste at three o'clock, I got it,” Jack repeats tamely, because Mac obviously put a lot of effort into his preparations. “Shaving cream at six o'clock.”

“Razor?”

“Nine o'clock because I'm right-handed, and that way I'll hopefully avoid cutting my fingers when I'm reaching for it. In case I forget to point the handle to the middle,” Jack recites dutifully.

“Right. If you had let me buy you an electrical one-”

“Jack Dalton shaves in style,” Jack objects, and Mac grins: “Fair enough. Band-aids at five o'clock.”

“Funny,” Jack mutters, then he yawns. “Think I'll turn in now, if you don't mind.”

“Are you going to be alright?” Mac asks.

“Yeah. Especially since you put a walkie-talkie on the nightstand.” Jack looks as though he wants to laugh but does his darnedest to contain it.

“It makes sense,” Mac defends himself. “If you need me and I won't hear you, you can just use that. Since your cell phone is not an option right now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack replies, a little more sober. “I know.”

He lies awake some time, listening. He's spent countless nights in this house, first on the couch, then, once Bozer had moved out, in this room. He's never paid much attention to all the sounds he can hear though. The creaking of wood as the night is getting cooler. Water running somewhere, as Mac is probably taking a shower. A dog barking in the neighbourhood.

It's strangely peaceful, lying here and knowing that Mac's close by. Jack is utterly grateful to have this amazing person in his life, but whenever he lets himself think about it further, he feels a pang. He wants more than friendship, if he is honest with himself, has been wanting more for a long time now. He always kept his feelings under tight wraps, fearing he might lose Mac if his partner found out about the true nature of Jack's feelings.

Who can't help it though: he's head over heels in love, it's not just a crush, and it pretty much started way back in Afghanistan, once they had overcome their initial animosity towards one another and Jack realized what a great guy Mac actually was. And once he allowed himself to appreciate that, he couldn't help but notice other things too: Mac's smile, his impossibly blue eyes, his slender hands Jack never tired of watching, the way he moved... it was downright silly, and yet.

Over the years, Jack's love and affection have kept growing, and that's still going on. He's still going to hide it, especially now that he's damaged goods. Even if he had thought it possible, somewhere in the more obscure recesses of his mind, that Mac might reciprocate his feelings, and there have been moments during which he wasn't sure, it's all futile now. He kept telling himself that the age difference alone was too much of a hindrance; now he's blind on top of that, he can as well abandon all hope he might still be harboring against all odds.

Unhappily, he pulls the comforter up to his shoulders and burrows into it, trying to think of something else. Which is almost impossible, and it takes him a long time to fall asleep.

On the following morning, Jack wakes up to the heavenly scent of coffee. Just like every day since their mission, he is disappointed upon opening his eyes and seeing nothing but darkness: despite himself, he hopes every time. It'd be easy to despair afresh every time, but easy's for sissies like those Navy SEAL water babies. He's Jack Dalton, former Delta and current protector of their very own genius extraordinaire, and he intends to keep that up. He will be alright, he just needs to think positive. Therefore, he concentrates on the coffee smell and the small sounds coming from the kitchen until he feels up to taking on a new day.

Slowly, he sits up, taking a moment to get his bearings; his wounds are healing, but he's still a far cry from his usual form. He gets up and makes his way to the bathroom; admittedly, counting his steps helps.

After relieving himself and washing his hands, he slips into his dressing gown and returns to the bed, which is going to be his starting point. He knows he should call Mac, but pride and determination forbid him to do so. Instead, he stretches out his arms and begins to walk to the door, counting again. He's at 27 when he runs into something, painfully hitting his toes and his shin on whatever it is.

“Jack!” Mac doesn't sound too far away, but he still comes running, and a moment later, Jack feels his partner's hands on his arm and his back, supporting him as Jack is standing on one leg, holding the other leg with both hands, alternately swearing and panting from the pain. Mac lets him, never relinquishing his grip on him.

“Damn it- what did I just run into?” Jack asks once he's got his breath back.

“Small desk,” Mac says. “You almost made it to the kitchen unaided though.”

“Yeah.” Jack sighs. “27 steps. Not bad, huh?”

The coffee is making up for a lot. It's the first decent brew Jack had since the hospital; not that the coffee at the Phoenix is bad, but it's just not the same. So Jack holds the mug with both hands and savours the aroma. Mac may be a catastrophe in the kitchen, but he knows how to make coffee, courtesy of Bozer.

“Cereal or bacon and eggs?” he now asks.

Jack pretends to ponder this: “Depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether or not you have a fire extinguisher at hand.”

“Har har. Cereal it is, then.”

“Oh, come on now... you'd really do that to me?”

Mac sighs: “Fine. Stop being a jerk, and you'll get your eggs.”

“And bacon.”

“That too.”

Jack smiles complacently. “You're lucky you got me around,” he then says. “I can tell you when eggs are perfectly done just by the scent.”

“Really? I was actually planning on burning them to some crispy charcoal,” Mac says lightly.

Jack shakes his head: “You would, wouldn't you.”

By the time the afternoon rolls around, Jack is lying on the couch somewhat exhaustedly; the TV is running, but he's actually listening for Mac, who's tinkering with something.

Every now and then however, he seems to be walking around the house, and then there's beeping. Once, there's a loud thud, followed by Mac gasping and hissing and swearing under his breath much like Jack did that morning.

It's sweet, really, how much of an effort he is making: he's removed all sharp objects from potentially disastrous places, he's loaded all of Jack's favourite music on his Ipod, he's re-organized the fridge so things are easier to find, and whatever he's busy with now is also for Jack's benefit.

There's another thud, and a soft groan.

“Come on, hoss, what're you doing?” Jack now asks, unable to contain his curiosity much longer.

“Gimme me minute,” Mac mutters, panting.

“What did you _do_?”

Mac sounds breathless and a little distracted: “Bumped into something.”

At that, Jack sits up: “You didn't pretend to be blind to put yourself in my position, did you?”

“Maybe.”

“That's just stupid.”

“It was necessary,” Mac replies, exhaling somewhat strainedly.

“Why?”

“I was testing something.”

“What-”

“The sooner you'll shut up, the sooner I'll get to tell you.”

Huffing, Jack leans back again.

There's more walking and beeping.

“Minute's long over,” Jack mutters at one point.

“Yeah, yeah...”

A moment later, the couch dips a little, and Jack feels Mac's warmth next to his hip.

“Open your hand.”

“Oh no, I'm not falling for that.”

“Jack-”

“You're not gonna make me hold a spider, are you? Squeeze in a little aversion therapy while I'm at your mercy?”

Sighing, Mac reaches for Jack's hand and presses a small, rectangular item into it.

“What is is?” Jack feels along the rounded edges.

“I built it so it'll warn you not to crash into things,” Mac says. “Similar to the alert a car gives so you're not backing it into the fence.”

Jack is touched and a little indignant at the same time. “You want me to carry that around? And every time I'm too close to a piece of furniture or a wall, it'll beep?”

“Yeah?” Mac sounds a little sheepish again.

“But it obviously didn't work just now, else you wouldn't have bumped into whatever it was you bumped into.”

“That was my fault. It's working fine now, so you can use it.”

“Thanks, bud, but I'm not gonna do that.”

“Why not?”

“It's embarrassing.”

“There's no one here but the two of us.”

“Yeah, but... it's like putting one of those annoying little bells on a cat's collar. You can hear it wherever it goes. I'm not a _cat_ , hoss.”

“No, you're the guy whose shins will be black and blue if you don't use this.”

“Like yours, you mean? Thanks, I'll take the risk.”

“Please, Jack. You're still recuperating. Just humor me.”

Jack considers this, momentarily distracted by what he imagines Mac to be looking like now: a little concerned, his eyes wide, almost pleading, and his expression so guileless that Jack can't but give in. Like a puppy (and Mac has no idea how adorable he is). Which decides it: “Okay. Maybe for the first few days, but only until I've settled in.”

“Thanks.” Mac smiles broadly: “I swear I'll not film it and put it on Youtube.”

“Youtube? What are you, 50? If anything, you'll not put it on _Instagram_.”

“Fine.” Mac pauses. “Bozer always says my mental age is at least twice my actual age. So don't tell him about this, he'll not shut up about it for weeks otherwise.”

“We cats are very discreet,” Jack says, grinning, though his heart is racing because of what Mac just said about his mental age and the way he sounded when he did- carefully jaunty, but Jack knows him. This is how Mac sounds when he wants people to think he's nonchalant when in reality, something's bothering him. _Interesting_ , Jack thinks, and stows the moment away for later.

“How's your shin doing?” he then asks.

“Shut up.”

Later, when Jack has dozed off to the background noise of a Friends rerun, Mac covers him with a blanket, then, out of a whim, he sits down on the coffee table and regards him.

His partner looks a little haggard around the eyes, and being asleep always makes him appear more vulnerable, which is hard to bear, especially now. He won't admit how battered he still feels, but it's apparent in the way he moves carefully and measured, which obviously is not only because of the lack of sight. Mac vividly remembers how much such a blood loss and gun shot wounds per se take it out of a guy, so he sympathizes. Adjusting to being unable to see on top of that must be a bitch, to put it mildly, therefore Mac's glad that Jack's with him. His partner needs someone to step into the breach for him right now, and he'll do anything to make it more bearable for him. He just needs to be careful not to coddle Jack, who'd see right through it- well, figuratively.

Absent-mindedly, Mac smiles as Jack sighs in his sleep: he's looking so soft. Hesitantly, Mac reaches out, tempted to run his fingers through Jack's short hair, but then he stops himself. _This isn't about you_ , he tells himself, feeling abashed. _And it's in really bad taste to take advantage of a situation like this_.

He never knew how to show Jack what he was truly feeling, because their mutual love for one another, _brotherly_ love as everyone and their dog apparently made it out to be, was a given at one point; one of the few constants in his life, like Bozer. Unlike in Bozer's and his relationship though, Mac soon realized that his feelings for Jack were by far exceeding what could still be counted as platonic. Which was a problem that he couldn't solve, for once. Still can't, really, and that's certainly not going to change now, with all that's going on. It's unfair, all of it.

For a while, Mac stays where he is, motionless, weighed down by everything that is not happening and probably never will.

Slowly, he eventually gets to his feet and walks towards the kitchen, his fingers feeling an inexplicable loss.

That night, the physiotherapist comes by for the first time. Jack has already met the guy called Andy while he was still in Medical, and has been introduced to the treatment plan. He is less than thrilled: “I can barely move at all,” he grumbles, “and now I'm supposed to do exercises. My safeword is Skeeball, just so you know when to intervene.”

Mac rolls his eyes and goes to open the door.

Later, Andy finds Mac in the kitchen: “We're done for today,” he says. “We've been taking it slow, but Jack's pretty knackered now, so he lay down on his bed.”

“He okay?” Mac asks, immediately concerned.

“Yeah. It's just a lot at first, since he's still on the mend.”

Mac nods; not to mention the mental strain, he thinks.

“Anything I should heed?” he asks.

“Nothing you didn't already know.” Andy shoulders his bag: “He seems in good hands,” he says, smiling as he turns to go: “See you.”

Mac stares after him, then he shakes himself out of it to go and check on his partner.

Jack is leaning back against the pillows when Mac knocks on the door frame.

“Come in,” he says softly, sounding tired.

“I made sandwiches,” Mac says. “I hope you're hungry.”

“Kinda.” Jack's meds have been messing with his appetite in the past, and Mac's glad to hear that that doesn't seem the case this time. “You gotta bring them here, though, I don't think I can walk all the way to the kitchen again right now.”

“Yeah, no problem. Do you want some company or for me to leave you in peace?”

“Company,” Jack immediately replies.

Mac smiles: “Be right back.”

He takes a tray with sandwiches, some chocolate milk which he knows Jack loves and some cut up fruit to Jack's room.

While they eat, Jack tells him about his exercises: “... trembled like mad. If I get twitchy thigh syndrome or something, it's all Andy's fault.”

“There is no such thing as twitchy thigh syndrome,” Mac bites back a laugh. “There's Restless Leg Syndrome, but I doubt it can be caused by PT.”

“Nitpicker,” Jack mutters good-naturedly. “You know I can hear it when you roll your eyes, right?”

“I _did_ n't know that.”

Jack raises his eyebrows: “I can also hear your smiles,” he then says very softly, a smile of his own softening his expression to something utterly tender. For some reason, this is different than his usually already very open affection, and Mac blushes, terribly confused from one moment to the next, and suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands.

He knocks over the chocolate milk, flooding the tray, and quickly jumps up to get a rag. Once the damage has been contained, the moment has long since passed, and Mac isn't even sure it happened at all; maybe it's all in his head, because of his brief weakness in the afternoon.

He's still pondering it later when he goes to bed, and it's keeping him awake.

Early on the following morning, Mac's startled awake when the walkie-talkie next to the bed crackles to life: “You awake, hoss? Over.”

Groggily, Mac blinks: Jack sounded strange just now. He reaches for the walkie-talkie: “I am now. You okay?”

“Yeah, well... I kinda had a mishap. Over.”

Mac's already on his feet: “Be right there.”

He finds Jack on the floor, leaning against the bed and looking shaken; his forehead is bloody.

“We're gonna have to talk about the proper usage of radio codes,” he mutters when he hears his partner's footsteps.

With two strides, Mac is at his side, squatting down next to him, one hand on Jack's arm, cupping his cheek with the other: “What happened?”

Jack immediately reaches for him, obviously needing the contact; he's in shock, Mac realizes.

“My own freakin' stupidity,” he mutters, holding on to Mac's wrist; his trembling hand is cold. “Went to the bathroom still half asleep and bumped into the door frame.” He takes a shuddering breath: “Stupid.”

“It's not stupid,” Mac says gently, stroking Jack's cheek with his thumb. “On the contrary, it happens to everybody. Remember how I broke my toes last year? Plural?”

“Yeah,” Jack breathes out a brief laugh, but his grip on his partner doesn't lessen.

“Okay,” Mac says, “let's get you to your feet. How's your head feeling?”

“Thoroughly whacked.”

“Yeah, that's quite a bump you've got there,” Mac says sympathetically. “Are you feeling nauseous or dizzy?”

“No, don't think so. Just... standard run-of-the-mill embarrassed.”

“Well.” Mac gently pulls him to his feet. “I don't wanna pile on to that, but... do you wanna go to the bathroom first?”

“Oh yes.” Jack grimaces, and he doesn't protest when Mac supports him. He leaves Jack to his own devices and goes to get the first aid kit, briefly debating whether he should call Dr. Sinderby, in case Jack is concussed. On the other hand: there isn't much the doctor can do if that's the case, and Mac is going to keep a close eye on Jack anyway.

Subsequently, Mac cleans the wound: it's a small cut which he closes with a butterfly bandage. Jack, who is sitting on the bed, doesn't say much; he seems defeated, his shoulders slumped. Mac knows that it's not because of the wound itself or a mere case of hurt pride; Jack is a tough guy who's had much worse. However, the whole situation is wearing him down anyway, and now this. A stupid little accident that could have happened even with his eyesight intact, and yet... it's worse because it happened now that he can't see.

Gently, Mac wipes the rest of the blood off Jack's face: “All done,” he then says. “How's it feel?”

“Okay.” Jack's voice is quiet. “Thanks, hoss.”

Mac regards him, struck by the raw, excruciating hurt in his partner's expression; unthinkingly, he steps between Jack's legs, wraps his arms around him and pulls him close until Jack's face is resting against his belly. It's an intimate pose and Jack tenses at first, but then he brings his own arms up around Mac's midriff and nestles his cheek against the worn shirt he's been sleeping in, inhaling deeply, and allows himself to be held.

Mac can't help it, his heart is racing, but at the same time, he feels a calmness settling on him that he hasn't felt in a long time. As though everything's in place right now, despite the circumstances. Gently, if trembling ever so slightly, he runs his hand over Jack's back while the other cups his neck, protective and tender. He can feel Jack's breath through his shirt and shivers a little.

It's not awkward though; if anything, it's lovely.

“I've got you,” he hears himself say, and Jack laughs a little, sounding giddy: “Yeah, you do,” he mutters.

When they pull back, both of them are quivering, and Jack never lets go of Mac completely, just slides his hand around his hip and grabs his arm instead, and a moment later, his hand has found Mac's and he intertwines their fingers.

For a breathless few seconds, neither of them speaks, then Jack tries; his voice only obeys him at the second try though.

“Am I crazy here?” he asks, and he sounds so brittle and vulnerable that it's wrenching Mac's heart afresh. He pulls Jack's hand close and crouches down again, pressing a kiss on Jack's fingers: “If anything, we're both crazy,” he says hoarsely.

Jack's expression softens, just as it did on the previous night: “We are?”

“Yes.” Mac's voice is earnest. “Though until very recently, I didn't think... I didn't think there was a 'we'. I thought it's just me.”

At that, Jack's eyes are getting moist. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “It was never just you. But I also thought there wasn't a 'we'.”

Mac laughs a little as well, and they are silent again, overwhelmed by the immensity of what they just discovered.

“I just wish the timing wasn't so bad,” Jack finally manages, wiping his eyes with his free hand. “How much I'd like to see you now, you got no idea!”

Mac pulls his hand up to his face once more, pressing Jack's hand on his cheek: “Same old,” he replies softly. Jack gently caresses his face, his smile still a little watery. “I love you,” he whispers. “I've loved you for so long now, and I've told you a hundred times. It was never completely honest though, because I loved you more than I could safely say.”

Mac inclines his head: “Same here.” His voice is gravelly. “I was too afraid to lose you.”

“Yes, that...” Jack's voice is feeble. “And I thought... hell, I'm 23 years older than you. I thought... even if there was a chance... that you should be with someone closer to your age.”

Mac huffs: “People _my age_...,” he mutters, thinking of Donnie Sandoz and the likes; except for Bozer and maybe a handful of others, he honestly can't recall anyone really decent from school. Which is not the point though, so he shakes himself out of it: “I don't _want_ anyone else,” he says, suddenly feeling like crying because nothing is ever easy, and it's exhausting. “Our age difference doesn't matter to me, because I don't think of you as an older guy or myself as a kid, though apparently all the people around me do. I just know how we click, and that we're seeing eye to eye. You're my friend and my partner. These days, you're the one I'm closest to. Who knows me better than anyone else.” He breaks of, sounding choked.

“Hoss,” Jack mutters tenderly; at his fingertips, he can feel that Mac's eyes are brimming. How he doesn't take this lightly either. He's right, of course; their partnership is based on something solid, there's no superficiality.

Jack still feels obligated to point a few things out, to make sure Mac doesn't get in over his head because of his good heart. Even if it feels like it's killing him. Shakily, he exhales: “But now I'm... it's not the same anymore, is it?”

“Not right now, no,” Mac replies slowly, sniffling a few times. “It's even better though, apart from the fact that you're temporarily blind.” He emphasizes the 'temporarily'.

“How's it _better_?”

“When's the last time we had so much time together, uninterrupted?” Mac simply says. “Yes, I realize that you're probably not feeling like your old self, and that you hate not being able to see and being partially dependent on others. But to me... you're the same old Jack.” He pauses. “ _My_ Jack.”

“So this isn't happening... out of pity?” Jack regrets saying it the moment it's out, and the ensueing silence only proves that he's right feeling as though he's just punched Mac in the guts.

“Don't you know me at all?” Mac eventually asks, sounding as if it's taking a lot of effort to speak and so hurt that Jack cringes. “Apart from that, you made me promise not to pity you, and I intend to keep that promise.”

“I'm sorry,” Jack says hurriedly. “You're right, I'm sorry, I'm an idiot. Please, Mac, sometimes I say the darnedest things. You know I didn't mean that. It's just... You're always sweet and considerate. You'd go to great lengths to make other people feel better, putting yourself last.” He pauses. “I don't want you to make any concessions just for my sake.”

Mac gives an incredulous little snort at that: “Will you please stop selling yourself short? Didn't you hear what I just said?”

“Yeah, I heard you,” Jack smiles painedly, fresh tears running down his cheek. “But... guys in our line of work... they don't get the fairy tale ending, remember?” he says nasally. “I can't quite believe you and I could be the exception.”

“I remember. Since this is far from a fairy tale, however and we're actually in the same line of work...” Mac pauses. “I think we should give it a shot. _Make_ you and me the exception.” He sounds timid, and Jack can vividly imagine his puppy dog expression, which is entirely his own fault. God, he's such an idiot. Mac's not finished however: “Things can be over in a heartbeat. We shouldn't keep postponing what's important, or it might never happen.”

“You're right,” Jack manages, clearing his throat repeatedly. “I'm so sorry, Mac. You're the last person I'd ever doubt, you know that, right?”

Mac squeezes his hand: “I know,” he says, but he sounds calmer now.

Jack takes a shuddering breath: “I want to be with you,” he says softly. “I just needed to make sure...”

“Yeah, I get it,” Mac replies, sounding relieved. “Can we please stop making this so complicated now? It's supposed to be romantic!”

Despite himself, Jack snorts out a laugh: “Okay,” he then says. “Okay. Well... Clearly, we're past the first to fifth date. But... once I've got my eyes to function again, I'd very much like to take you out to dinner nevertheless. Tie and all.”

“I'd very much like that.”

“And I want to be able to see you,” Jack continues a little softer, suddenly feeling bold, “when we...” He breaks off. “Y'know.”

To his annoyance, Mac blushes. “I know.” He clears his throat again: “After all this time, I think we can probably wait a bit longer.”

“'kay.” Jack nods. “A kiss though... a kiss'd be nice.”

It is. Mac kisses like he does everything else: with a dedicated seriousness and sound commitment. It is tender and slow and careful and determined and fascinating. It's as Jack imagined it and completely different. His whole body is tingling because this is Mac, and it's really happening, and he feels more alive than he has ever since the fateful day he was injured. And since one kiss isn't nearly enough, they keep at it for a while.

“You're still you,” Mac murmurs once they've come up for air and are nuzzling each other's face, breathless and slightly giddy.

“Thank you,” Jack's lips caress Mac's. “For believing in me.”

“Goes both ways, right?” Mac replies softly, his voice as serious as it gets. “You got my back, I got yours.”

“Yeah. There were times though...” Jack pauses, searching for words. “When I wasn't myself anymore. Felt like a stranger had crawled into my skin. Still happens at times, y'know?”

Mac has an inkling what he's talking about. Sometimes, when things go seriously wrong, Jack falls silent, locking his jaw. That's when he's least like himself. When he questions everything. Which Mac can refer to.

Jack continues: “Happened when I first woke up and couldn't see. If you hadn't been there to keep me grounded...” He breaks off.

“Count on me,” Mac says quietly. “To always be there to keep you grounded.”

Jack's expression softens: “I love you,” he whispers.

Mac pulls him even closer and wraps his arms around him again: “I love you too,” he murmurs against Jack's neck. They both hold one another tightly for a considerable while.

“So...” Jack takes a deep breath once they've eventually pulled back a little, “if the outcome isn't what we're expecting it to be, sight-wise-”

“Yeah, I'll dump you and find someone _my age_ ,” Mac deadpans, trying not to laugh and failing epically.

“Jerk,” Jack mutters and gently bites him on the lip, but for some reason, Mac's answer is making him feel much better.

Mac shifts where he is crouching: “So... breakfast?”

Jack smiles: “Sounds good.”

The whole situation seems to have to sufficiently distracted him from his mishap; he's got his colour back, and despite the emotional turmoil, he seems alright now.

Matty was worried at first, thinking it might be a bit much for Mac to contend with the situation pretty much on his own: Jack is still healing after all, and he's still processing what has happened. He's bound to have mood swings, much like he did in the hospital, or sink into depression or even get cabin fever. While Matty knows that Mac is tougher than he looks and will bear the brunt of any possible issues with stoic patience, he shouldn't have to.

After the first week however, her concerns about that have lessened considerably. They seem to have fallen into a routine rather easily and Jack is moving around the house with a funny little contraption Mac made for him, preventing him from running into things. There have been some minor accidents nevertheless, which is why Jack is sporting a small wound on his forehead, but he seems in a good temper when the team are visiting on a Friday night. In fact, both of them seem to be doing very well.

The funny thing is that nothing much has changed of yet, even though everything has changed. Even to Mac's scientific mind that does makes sense though: Jack and he know each other well and are comfortable with each other no matter what, since they are used to adapt to all kinds of situations. Their relationship has been forged by difficult circumstances and steadily grown stronger, despite everything they went through, making it unshakable.

At the same time, they're now getting to know each other on a completely different level. They've shared a bunk before and, out of necessity, even slept in the same bed a few times (or sometimes, not even in a bed, depending on the respective mission and whatever had gone wrong), but it's a different experience when suddenly, there's cuddling involved. When one is allowed to snuggle up against the other warm body on the couch while watching/listening to Die Hard. When one can finally kiss the person one has so far only been dreaming about kissing, and that only ever with a pang of regret. When waking up next to the other doesn't mean something's off and they are improvising, on the contrary: it's becoming the new normal.

Neither of them imagined to be able to be so happy one day. Jack also thinks that having Mac as his boyfriend is making up for a lot; not that he isn't still struggling with being blind, but it's more bearable somehow, knowing that this amazing person is going to stick with him no matter what. And Mac finally feels like he's arrived somewhere, instead of constantly looking for something he couldn't even name.

They're both content with taking it slow, though Mac has taken to sleeping in Jack's bed. While they both agreed on it under the pretext of convenience, it seems inevitable in hindsight. And yeah, of course some stuff happens, which is also part of getting to know each other intimately. It kind of makes them proud too.

“Think they finally accepted the inevitable?” Riley asks Bozer after another Friday night on the deck.

“Girl- the way they're both _glowing_ , there's no other explanation,” Bozer says, looking content. “I mean- Jack's doing much better on the whole, but he's still blind. So...“ He grins.

Riley nods, smiling: “We should have locked them in together much sooner.”

About four weeks in, Jack wakes up one morning and is able to distinguish movement. He blinks, reaching out for Mac, who's just gotten to his feet: “Whoa,” he says, trembling. “Mac- I...”

“What's wrong?” Mac turns around.

“I don't know, man... I saw that movement.”

“What?” Mac's voice is high with excitement. He waves his arm: “Can you see that?”

“Do it again.”

Mac does, and Jack beams: “It's like dark wings in the night, but it's there!”

Laughing incredulously, Mac throws his arms around Jack: “That's amazing!”

Dr. Sinderby and a new CT scan confirm the improvement, and Jack can't stop smiling all day.

It's not going fast enough for his taste; things are still the same on the following morning. And yet. Slowly but steadily, his sight improves. At first, he can make out movements, then shapes. A week later, he can distinguish individual persons on TV, and even though his vision isn't clear yet and even after two weeks, the colours sometimes are off and it's still rather taxing to judge distances, for example, he can finally see the world around him again instead of just listening to it.

He cries, the first time he can make out Mac's features, and Mac can't stop himself from tearing up as well, but he's smiling nevertheless, and he's beautiful as he does.

“This is a sight for sore eyes, “ Jack mutters, cupping Mac's cheek with his hand while his gaze slowly roams over the familiar, beloved face. “I missed you.”

Mac knows what he means.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading/lurking. I'm not a Native English Speaker, therefore I apologize for any mistakes. And despite a lot of research and a topic-related personal experience, this might still be wildly medically inaccurate.
> 
>   
> I posted my fourth finished story early because the general response to Whumptober has been somewhat underwhelming and I have zero patience, therefore I decided to save myself the waiting and anticipation. If I'll finish any of my Whumptober WIPs, I'll still post them.


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